


near, possible, and inevitable

by ashers_kiss



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Bucky/Nat Week, F/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-03-30 00:28:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3916387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashers_kiss/pseuds/ashers_kiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He watches her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	near, possible, and inevitable

**Author's Note:**

> [stars-inthe-sky](http://stars-inthe-sky.tumblr.com/) prompted me with "Here comes the spark before the dark, come a little closer" for [Bucky/Nat Week](http://fuckyeahbuckynatasha.tumblr.com/post/113695372873/welcome-to-the-official-start-of-buckynat-week). Unfortunately, I didn't manage to get it done during the actual week; turns out I had more college work to do than I'd thought.
> 
> I’m also not sure I managed to fit with what they were going for with this prompt (I made a Tegan and Sara prompt _sad_ ), but believe me, I _tried_.
> 
> Originally posted [here](http://dark-siren.tumblr.com/post/114537867704/buckynat-week-prompt-here-comes-the-spark-before).
> 
> Title from [a quote by Tolstoy](http://dark-siren.tumblr.com/post/115238209489/theredstarofjustice-tolstoy-the-soldier-and-the).

He watches her.

Natasha can feel it prickling over her skin, too sharp to ever be considered a caress, and when she looks up, meets his eyes, the only weight to his gaze is full of suspicion. No matter how often Steve vouches for her. (He trusts Steve, because of course he does. Everyone trusts Steve. More importantly, he _remembers_ Steve.) No matter how many times she has their back.

She pretends it doesn’t cut at something deep in her chest.

So she does nothing, says nothing, keeps her distance and her Bite fully charged. (She might kill Clint if he puts himself between them again, though, no matter how much it helps to have his shoulder knocking against hers. He doesn’t say anything, because he doesn’t have to; Natasha spilled her secrets to him long before she put them out for the whole world to see.) Barnes watches her from across the room, the jet, the wreckage, and Natasha refuses to look away, even as it sticks, catching in her throat.

And then one night he finds her in the communal kitchen, digging through one of Tony’s mostly secret stashes for the poptarts he thinks no one knows about. Natasha stills, because – because they don’t do this. They don’t seek each other out – he doesn’t seek _anyone_ out, shuts himself up in his room unless Steve or Sam (or JARVIS, and wasn’t _that_ a surprise) coax him out.

She eases back, slowly, carefully. Thinks through all of Tony’s escape routes, the likelihood of being able to make the other door while he blocks the one closest. How much she really wants to drag Steve into this, let him know exactly how much she’s been holding back.

Then Barnes shifts, and ice slides down her spine even as she takes in the slump of his shoulders, the careful tilt of his head that hides most of his face behind still too-long hair. (She wonders, sometimes, if he misses the mask.)

“You were blonde.”

Natasha’s breath catches in her chest, sharp and tight. His voice hasn’t changed, still the same rasp, the one that shivers down her spine and twists in her gut. She’s heard him say maybe five words since he let Steve find him, mutters under his breath that _dare_ anyone to eavesdrop, but this time, it’s directed at _her_ , and for just a moment, Natasha can hear the creak of the old practice floor under her feet.

Except – except now there’s the echo of a question, where it would never have dreamed of existing before, and Natasha unclenches her hands.

“Sometimes,” she agrees, and her voice is brittle even to her ears.

Barnes nods, a short, sharp incline of his head, and moves enough that he is no longer blocking the doorway. An escape, if she wants it.

Natasha doesn’t hold her breath as she passes. She pretends that it isn’t tempting.

Clint’s mostly asleep when she breaks into his floor, but he still lifts his covers when she creeps into his room and lets her curl herself around him, shaking hands tucked up against his chest. He does mumble something about how _she’s_ the one who’ll have to get him a new security code from Tony, and Natasha presses her face against his throat.

Slowly, the shaking stops, and she burrows closer. The ache in her chest stays, though. 


End file.
